


Winter Wonderland

by Glare



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s03e20 Death Benefit, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Alaska, Root instigates a snowball fight.<br/>Written for Day 3 of the POI Advent 2015</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> First femslash please be gentle ;v;

Shaw has been around the world. The Activity was never shy about sending her far and wide to hunt the monsters that lurked in the shadows. She’s fluent in a dozen different languages, and there’s a dozen more she grasps well enough to survive if the need arose. But Alaska. Alaska is new. It’s new and cold and blindingly white. Not to mention boring. There’s not an awful lot going on in Alaska. Stealing a jet—now that had been fun. Getting off the jet and driving for hours to get to their destination? Less fun. At least the foreign places she’s been had people to watch along the way.

Her breath comes in short, misted puffs. There is a part of Shaw that resents how excited Root seems to be about the whole affair while they make their way away from the warehouse once housing a terrorist cell. It’s in the middle of nowhere. A good hour’s drive from any form of civilization. Their latest relevant number had been one of the occupants now bleeding out on the concrete floor inside. Shaw is certain she’s bruised at least one rib, her coat is torn from a wildly swung knife, and Root is lagging behind with an obnoxiously large grin on her face as she relishes in the crunch of snow underfoot. It has to hurt, she split her lip in the brawl and a large bruise is blooming on her cheekbone, but Root remains undeterred. Shaw trudges pointedly ahead, looking forward to the heated seats of the rental car parked just over the next hill.

She doesn’t quite make it there.

She’s just turned back to tell Root to get a move on, that she’s likely to freeze to death at this rate, when a snowball erupts in her face and the words die somewhere in her throat. When she clears the snow from her vision, Root is giggling and wearing a smug smile—quite obviously pleased with herself.

“That’s how you want to play it?” Shaw growls, and scoops up a handful of the powdery snow, lobbing it at her partner. Root gracefully dodges the projectile, giggling transforming into delighted laughter, and Shaw scowls before stooping to reload. Root does the same.

It’s been a long time since Root has been in a snowball fight. Not since the winter before Hannah died. The weather that year was unseasonably cold, allowing for what amounted to barely more dusting of snow. Even so, all the kids in town were out in the cold scooping up what they could and lobbing at their friends. Hannah had dragged Root away from her computers, citing something she’d read once about wasted opportunities. The computers would still be there when the snow melted. They hadn’t been out long, there really wasn’t that much snow to play in, but the image of Hannah, cheeks red and covered in snow, stuck in Root’s mind. A precious memory that haunted her after Hannah disappeared. A bitter a reminder of when everything was _good_.

It’s been a long time since Shaw has been in a snowball fight. Not since the winter before her father died, actually. They’d moved again, this time stationed somewhere cold enough for there to be a fresh few inches of snow on the ground within a week of moving in. She’d been skeptical of the idea her father painted, fun in the cold seemed a bizarre concept, but had grudgingly allowed herself to be bundled up and tugged out into the weather. And, to her surprise, it _was_ fun. She remembers squealing in delight, trying to squirm away when her father caught her in the middle of their fight and shoved a handful of snow into the back of her coat. They didn’t go in until their coats and gloves had been soaked through and their teeth chattered from the chill. It was a memory Shaw hadn’t dwelled on since the funeral. A treasure from a time when she felt _human_.

Root turns away for just a moment, long enough for Shaw’s most recent snowball to break against her shoulder, and it offers the perfect opportunity. Shaw closes the distance between them in an instant, her momentum taking them both down and into the powdery snow. They thrash around there for a moment, both women attempting to gain the upper hand in their impromptu wrestling match, but Shaw eventually wins out and pins Root beneath her. If there was a part of them that managed to remain dry during the snowball fight, it surely hadn’t made it through this.

Root’s still laughing, even though her split lip has started bleeding again from the pull of that ridiculous smile. Her hat is askew, some of her hair has spilled out and onto the snow beneath them. The snow against her heavy black coat reminds Shaw vaguely of an inverted Dalmatian. And then Root _stops_ laughing, expression changes from joy to something close to awe, and Shaw realizes that _she_ ’ _s_ been smiling and giggling right alongside her partner. She’s seated firmly on Root’s hips, she has the taller woman’s hands pinned to the ground beside her head, her bruised rib hurts like hell, and she’s _giggling_ like she hasn’t since that snowball fight with her father so many years ago.

And Root, cheeks tinged pink with something beyond the chill, uses Shaw’s momentary distraction to pull her arms free. Shaw expects Root to flip them, maybe make her squirm around in the snow for a bit before declaring victory, but instead Root pushes up with one hand and catches the back of Shaw’s neck with the other, dragging her down. Root’s lips are cold, but Shaw doubts her own are any better considering the circumstances.

Shaw was never foolish enough to think that they’d never get here. The tension between them, a mutual attraction, had been too strong to think otherwise from their initial encounter. She’s pictured their first kiss a hundred different times in a hundred different places. None of those were anything like this. She’d expected it to be rough; this thing between them finally exploding. She’d expected biting and scratching and maybe hair pulling. Root seemed like the kind of girl who’d be into that. Hell, Root’s said she’s the kind of girl who’s into that. But not now. Root’s so _gentle_ , so soft, as if the moment might cease to exist if she pushes too hard or too fast.

They don’t realize they’re shivering until they finally break apart, clothes soaked through with the melting snow. Root wears a wobbly smile, and Shaw can’t help but answer it with one of her own.

“Come on,” she says, rolling off the other woman and holding out a hand, “let’s get out of here.”

Root takes it.


End file.
